


Two Big Horns and a Woolly Jaw

by spectaculacularsammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, Cunnilingus, Deep Throating, Dirty Talk, Don't Judge Me, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Face Sitting, Friends With Benefits, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Hunter!Reader, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Multi, No Wincest, Oral Sex, Roleplay, Spanking, Stubble Burn, Teasing kink, Tequila, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, and one shameless reference to Jumanji, anything that i write that is this long word count wise will be tagged strong on the long, caveman roleplay, face fucking, gagging, horrible euphemism (caveman club) for penis, it goes with the prompt, light roleplay, motel sex, no condoms - use condoms kids, no shave November, scruff burn, scrufffffffffffffffffffffffffff!!!!!!, scruffy winchesters, strong on the long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy/pseuds/spectaculacularsammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the years, you and Dean have had adventurous flings when your locations criss-cross’d with each other. One day, out of the blue, Dean’s in the same place as you, and he calls you up. </p><p>Dean’s got some kinks, so do you, but when he mentions that Sam could hear (and liked) every single sound you made the last time you and Dean were together, he doesn’t miss how your cheeks flush. Needless to say, Dean Winchester likes the red in your cheeks, and when Sam <i>finally</i> gets sees them, he likes it too.</p><p>And since this is for <a href="http://balthazars-muse.tumblr.com/">balthazars-muse</a>'s ‘No Shave November’ project, both of the Winchesters are beyond scruffy. It’s a beautiful thing. (My prompt was “All right, all right, calm down, caveman.”)</p><p>Title from the lyrics of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OcguLZaMelE"><i>Wooly Bully</i></a></p><p>Find me on Tumblr: <a href="http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/">HERE</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Big Horns and a Woolly Jaw

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that I’m digging back to the mid-60’s for this song, but dammit, it’s so perfect! If you’ve only heard The Chipmunk’s version of this song, seriously, go listen to the actual song on Youtube. 
> 
> You’ll never be the same. 
> 
> PS. ‘Let’s not be L-7,’ is a lyric in the song, and since I inherited this weird thing for Rock ‘n Roll trivia from my dad (aka: useless pieces of information), I just _have to_ tell you what it means. In the 90’s, a thumb and forefinger were used to make an ‘L’ symbol for the term ‘loser.’ In the 60’s, thumbs and forefingers were used to make an ‘L’ and a ‘7.’ Move your fingers together, and you got yourself a square-looking shape. Calling someone a ‘square’ in the 60’s is the 90’s equivalent of calling someone a ‘loser.’
> 
> If you ever end up on Rock ‘n Roll Jeopardy…you’re welcome.
> 
> Anyway. 
> 
> Smut. Scruff. Both Winchesters. _Go_!

The amount of highway between the pile of ash that _used_ to be a shifter and your motel room seems like hundreds of miles. Thankfully, it’s not, and fifteen minutes later, you’re parking your car in front of motel room number six.

It’s well after midnight, but after a quick walk up the broken sidewalk and a twist of a brass key, you’re in your motel room.

Wanting nothing more than a hot shower and then maybe a beer, you drop your gear bags just inside the doorway. Quickly, you find a pajama shirt and a pair of underwear and continue your way to the bathroom for a shower.

Once you’ve emptied your pockets onto the countertop and shucked off your filthy clothes, you step behind the plastic curtain and turn on the water. Just as you get a good lather of shampoo going in your hair, your phone rings, vibrating on the bathroom countertop. With a sigh, you dry off one hand with a threadbare towel and tap your phone’s screen, putting whoever is calling on speaker phone.

“Yeah?”

“ _Yeah_?” The voice on the other end of the line laughs, and behind it, you can hear a car’s engine idling. “After _all_ _this_ _time_ , all I get is a ‘yeah’?”

The instant you hear the voice, you know it’s none other than Dean Winchester, which makes the engine you’re hearing the Impala.

It seems like it’s been _forever_ since you’ve talked to Dean. Twice that long since you’ve seen him, not that you could forget your last _rendezvous_ with him – or the one before that, or the one before that, or the one before that…. Things are always _adventurous_ between you and Dean – to say the least.

Before you can say anything else, Dean’s voice comes through the phone again. “Why the hell am I lookin’ at a ceiling?”

You laugh, assuming he must have FaceTime’d you. “’Cause I’m in the shower.”

Dean groans, “ _Nice_. Well, I guess askin’ ‘what’re you wearin’?’ is out of the question.”

Grinning like a crazy person, you answer, “Doesn’t mean you still can’t ask,” and quickly work to finish your shower.

“Don’t think I need to, but a visual of my favorite girl would be nice.”

“We’ll see,” you tease. “So, what have you been up to lately? Haven’t heard from you in a few months.”

“Oh, a little a’this, a little a’that. You?”

“About the same, here.”

“So, where is _here_ anyway?”

Not answering Dean, you shut off the water, grab for a towel, and step out of the shower. You’re met with a cock-sure grin when you strategically place your phone on the countertop, so Dean can watch you dry off and comb your hair.

“Son of a bitch, _____,” Dean growls low and leans back against the Impala’s seat when you drop your towel and some of his favorite parts of your body show on his phone’s screen. Distracting him, you slowly bend over and grab your clean shirt. Ironically, it’s an old Zeppelin shirt that he left behind after one of said rendezvous. Dean smirks at the shirt, but groans at what it covers. “Jesus…. ______, you gotta tell me.”

Grinning at Dean through your phone, you step into a pair of panties. “Some town off of highway fifty-nine in Western Minnesota. Why? Where are _you_?”

Suddenly, your view of Dean is replaced with black. A muffled noise comes through your phone, the Impala’s engine cuts out, and in a crackled voice you hear Dean excitedly say, “I knew it was her car!”

“ _My_ car?!” You ask curiously, “What about _my_ _car_?”

Dean’s face shows up on your phone’s screen, smeared with that cock-sure grin again. “You in room six?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” you answer, slightly skeptical, but then it hits you. “Are you _here_?!”

The phone call goes dead, and you sprint toward the door. Before you can touch the knob, the door swings open, and there’s Dean with a real-life grin on his face. “I _knew_ it was your car.”

“Speaking of that…. How are you _here_?”

“Well, Sammy and I _were_ hunting down a shifter, but word is _you_ beat us to it.”

“Huh. I guess _someone’s_ running a little slow these days.”

“I guess.” His eyes travel down your body, and he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Nice shirt.”

“This old thing?” You tease and pick at a hem that unraveled months ago. “Some _guy_ I see every once in a while left it behind in a mad rush to get back on the road.”

“A mad rush to leave _you_?” Dean closes the door behind himself and takes a step toward you, watching you counter him with a step backward, with a frisky smile on your face. “Doesn’t sound like a very good guy to me.”

“Oh, he is. One of the best, in fact. We see each other when we can,” you playfully assure Dean, grinning so hard that your cheeks hurt. “You should meet him some time; you’d like him.”

“I might have to.” Dean takes another step toward you and watches you try to go backward again, but you back into the wall. “Gotta make sure my favorite girl is getting taken care of.”

“I think she’s going to get _well taken care of_.”

“Sweetheart, I _know_ she is.”

Dean looks exactly the same as he always does, but somehow _better_. His hair’s just barely too long, but that’s more than fine. His jeans are the same, and the same layers of cotton, canvas, and flannel cover his firm upper body. The same freckles and perfect lips grace his face, however, what _isn’t_ the same is the extra scruff on his chin. It’s not the typical stubble that you’ve seen for years now; it’s almost a full-on beard.

“This is new.” You reach forward to run your pointer finger along Dean’s jaw. The light brown hair growth isn’t as bristly as you expected, but almost soft.

Dean smirks while licking those perfect fucking lips again and steps so close to you that his chest touches yours. “Sammy and I been on the road for a while. If I’d’a known I was gonna run into you, I woulda shaved it off.”

After taking a minute to run your fingertips over Dean’s new facial hair, you pull him even closer to you and kiss him. Like always, his lips are soft, but the contrast of his beard against your cheeks and chin is very appealing. “I kinda like it.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, even though he can read what you’re thinking all over your face. He nips at your lips, being extra sure to rub his whiskers on your skin. “It’s not like kissing a caveman?”

Sliding your hands down to Dean’s chest, you start to walk him backward toward the bed while working open the buttons on his shirt. “Maybe that’s what I like about it?” You pull his shirts over his head and trace your fingers over his pecs and stomach, down to the bulge in his pants. “Scruffy cavemen. Don’t they usually come with a big… _club_?”

“Well, _this_ _scruffy caveman_ does.”

“I remember it well,” you groan, your body growing warm with the memory.

“You should,” he teases. “You begged me for it the last time I was here.”

“And you loved it.”

“Every second of it.”

“I was sore for _days_ after you left.”

Dean chuckles and reaches up to stroke his fingers over your neck. “Me too. Sammy gave me so much shit.”

Raising a curious eyebrow up at Dean, you ask, “You told him?”

“Our motel room shared a wall with his. Sam may have given _me_ a hard time about all the pretty noises you made, but _he_ was the one who took extra-long showers twice a day…for a week.”

“’Pretty noises’?” You feel a little extra warmth twinge in your body as you think about Sam listening to you and Dean that night, taking long showers afterward…touching himself. “He said that?”

“Didn’t have to; it was kinda obvious,” Dean answers in a gritty voice and grabs your ass to pull your body closer to his. Nosing at your cheek, feeling how flushed and hot it is, he chuckles when he realizes that what he’s just told you is turning you on.

“You like that, don’t you?” Dean asks between teasing, feather-light brushes of his lips against yours. “Sammy thinkin’ about you? Hearing you scream when I made you come so many times you almost passed out?”

“Jesus, Dean,” you gasp and try to pull at his belt. “Take off your fucking pants.”

Grabbing your wrists in his hands, Dean pushes you back against the wall with his body, absolutely loving the way you’re responding. “Baby, I fucked you so hard that you felt it for _days_ after I left, and Sammy heard it all. He couldn’t get you out of his head, and _you_ like it.”

A loud moan falls from your lips when Dean pushes his hips against yours. “ _Dean_.”

“I know you do.” He switches his hold on your wrists from two of his hands to just one and trails his free hand down your body. His fingertips trace the collar of your tee shirt, over your hard nipples, down your ribs, middle, and slide into your panties. You gasp, and he groans when he feels your wetness. “I can _tell_ you like it, so just say it, sweetheart. Tell me you like it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as he slides his fingers along your clit. “ _Fuck_. Yes, all right?” Your cheeks redden even further from the admission. “Yes, I like it.”

Worked up by how turned on you are, Dean groans and kisses you hard. “I’m savin’ _that_ piece of information for a rainy day, but I believe we were discussing my _big_ caveman club….”

“Take off your goddamned pants,” you murmur against his lips, “and I’ll _show you_ how much I like your _big_ caveman club.”

When Dean doesn’t move, you try to pull your hands out of his firm grasp. The second you do, Dean makes a deep sound in the back of his throat, wraps both hands back around your wrists, and shoves one of his knees between your legs. He groans when you whine at the touch, but takes his time looking your Zeppelin-tee-shirt-covered body up and down, grunting a caveman-like sound in approval.

Catching your breath, you watch him for a minute as he stares down at you. Dean’s eyes are fixed to yours, looking at you like he wants to fuck you _through_ the wall, but he doesn’t move. You try to move closer to him, press your chest into his, and kiss him, but he monosyllabically grunts another deep caveman sound. “ _No_.”

There’s this frisky glimmer in Dean’s eyes that tells you he’d love to have a sexier version of Fred and Wilma Flinstone-type role playing attire – equipped with an _actual_ wooden club if he could have his way. However, next to that glimmer is a look that’s playfully dark with a sexy smirk to match. Whatever Dean’s got planned in that beautiful brain of his, you want it, so you relax in his hold.

Dean's eyes _still_ don’t leave yours, but he grins at your submission.

Taking one of his hands away from your wrists, he moves the hem of your shirt to the side and slides his hand back underneath your panties to lightly cup your pussy. He chuckles low when he finds you even wetter than before and starts to make slow circles around your clit. Reflexively, your hips start to grind against his hand, but Dean takes it away.

You whine and then gasp when Dean pushes your hips back against the wall, squeezing your wrists tighter.

“No,” Dean repeats in a voice so much lower than the one he typically uses. With his hair slightly longer than normal hair, the disheveled-looking beard on his face, and the purely animalistic way that he’s looking at you, you think he’s taking his caveman comment to a whole new level, but then he grunts, “No move.”

This isn’t the first time you and Dean have role played. His favorite is with him as the patient, and you as the sexy nurse, tending to his _wounds_. He fucking loves it, so you attempt to play along.

“No move,” you try to answer in your apparent cavewoman role, but a small giggle comes out of your mouth, breaking Dean’s scenario.

Surprisingly, Dean doesn’t break. “ _No_ ,” he forcefully insists, tightening his grip on you even further, causing you to gasp in surprise.

“ _Okay_ ,” you breathlessly promise and watch as Dean’s dark pupils drown out all but a thin sliver of green in his eyes.

He keeps your eyes with his for just a few seconds longer than you expect, then a gritty and satisfied chuckle that you know well comes from Dean’s throat. The next thing you know, you’re being tossed over his shoulder.

“I might need to get myself an _actual_ club,” he teases with a grin and playfully smacks your ass.

“I pretty partial to the one you already have.”

“I’m aware.” Dean continues to chuckle, pulls down your panties, and smacks your ass again.

You squeal and laugh while trying to squirm out of Dean’s grasp. As you do, a pair of upside-down legs that don’t belong to Dean, catch your eye. You twist your head around to try to see who the extra set of legs belong to, and the first thing you see is plaid and a dark brown beard.

It’s Sam, who has apparently jumped on the scruffy bandwagon right alongside his brother.

Immediately, and you reach up to feel that your underwear is properly covering your ass – it is. Dean swats your hand away, then swats your ass too, grunting at your persistent resistance to staying still. In return, you smack _him_ on _his_ ass.

In retaliation, he teasingly makes threats about the club again, but you interrupt him, “ **All right, all right, calm down, caveman.** Your brother’s right there.”

With some grumbling and a heavy sigh, Dean puts you down, and you pull your tee shirt as far down your thighs as you can.

“Hi, Sam,” you say with a flustered look and flushed cheeks.

“Hi, _____,” Sam replies, trying to keep what is obviously an embarrassed grin off of his face and the pink out of his cheeks. He’s successful with neither. “I didn’t mean to- I’m gonna go get a room.”

Dean snickers, and you elbow him in the ribs. “No, stay,” you insist kindly when Sam turns to leave. “You two grab yourselves a beer out of the mini-fridge, and I’ll find some pants.”

Looking a little relieved, Sam drops an armful of bags in the corner of your motel room and takes a seat in a chair. As you walk toward the bathroom to get fully dressed, Dean playfully grabs you by your arm and whispers in your ear, “You tryin’ to liquor me up?”

You reach down, grab one of Dean’s shirts off of the floor, and hand it to him. “It’s _a_ beer, Dean, but if you want, there’s about a half bottle of Jose in my bag.”

Grinning, Dean takes his shirt and quickly kisses you. “There’s my favorite girl.”

Five minutes later, you’re in your post-hunt-yoga-pants and your Zeppelin tee shirt and have joined Sam and Dean, who are sitting around a table, passing around the tequila, and talking about how you ganked the shifter before they could even get to town.

It doesn’t take long for Sam’s shoulders to loosen and for him to relax back in his chair as he sips the tequila. When he passes the bottle to you, you swallow down a mouthful, feeling your body go warm as the bottle empties. Dean takes a good gulp when it’s his turn and passes the bottle back to Sam. Dean’s one hand never leaves your knee; it inches its way up your thigh with every shot he takes, until finally, he just pulls you up into his lap.

The quick change in location causes the tequila bottle to slide out of your hand and spin on the tabletop. Sam catches the bottle before anything spills and laughs at you and Dean, shaking his head, making his abnormally shaggy hair fall into his face and cover his scruffy jaw.

It might be the booze. It might be the fact that Sam’s hair looks so goddamned soft, sticking out in every which direction. Whatever the reason, without thinking, you reach over and tuck his hair behind his ear.

An odd sort of low strangled noise comes from Dean. Sam gives you a look that is kind, yet curious, and you nervously clear your throat.

“So, where have you two been?” You quickly ask before either brother can comment on what you just did. “‘Cause with the scruff, you guys look like you’ve been trapped in Jumanji for twenty-six years.”

Sam chuckles into the bottle of tequila, but before he can answer, Dean asks, “You like the scruff, don’t you?”

“I do.” You take the bottle from Sam when he hands it to you and look at the dark brown layer of furry growth covering his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. “It’s a little unruly, but if anybody could make it work, it’d be you two.”

Sam’s eyes flicker up to yours when he feels you looking at him. He watches your lips wrap around the mouth of the bottle, watches your throat move as you swallow another quick shot, and watches you pass the bottle back to Dean. The elder Winchester rubs a huge hand down the outside of your thigh and takes a pull from bottle with the other one. After giving the tequila to Sam, Dean turns in his chair, so your knees bump into Sam’s thigh.

Kissing at the back of your neck, Dean says, “So, that makes _two_ _things_ you’ve told me you liked since I got here.”

Once again, Sam’s eyes dart over to yours, and your breath catches in your throat. “ _Dean_ ….”

At first, you want Dean’s name to come out like a warning. A little embarrassed by the whole situation, you want it to come out in a tone that will make Dean stop before he says anything about how you liked knowing that Sam was listening the last time you and Dean were together; it does _not_ come out that way. When you say Dean’s name, it sounds like you’re begging him, and if you’re honest with yourself, part of you is.

Sure, the booze helps, but really, a half bottle of tequila with _two_ Winchesters? A handful of pulls isn’t enough to dull every _single_ inhibition, but the way Sam’s eyes track you as Dean leans you back against his chest, sparks a little something not even Jose Cuervo, himself, could create.

Burying his face in your neck, Dean alternates between using lips, beard, and teeth on your skin, while his hands slide up underneath your tee shirt. “Just tell me to stop, and I will,” he murmurs in your ear, only loud enough for you to hear.

Practically melting in Dean’s lap, panting, you shake your head ‘no’ and gasp when Dean’s fingertips tweak your nipples.  

“Then, tell him,” Dean says louder and uses his knees to spread open your legs, right in front of Sam.

Pulling and twisting your nipples one more time, Dean groans at how you rub your ass into his hardening cock, and brings one hand down to the inseam of your pants. Gently rubbing his first and middle finger over your cotton-covered pussy, he continues, “You told me how much you liked it, so now, tell Sammy.”

Sam’s watching Dean’s hand up your shirt, his other hand rubbing between your legs. He’s watching your mouth, lips, and hearing the pretty sounds that you’re making. After Sam shoots the last of the tequila, he carefully sets the bottle down, turns in his chair, so his knees are between your spread legs.

Ever since Sam walked into your motel room, it’s felt like there was a secret that he wasn’t in on. Now, he knows that there _is_ one – and, Jesus Christ, Sam wants to know – so he takes your widely spread legs as the silent invitation that they are, leans forward, and puts his hands on your knees. “Tell me what?”

“ _God_ ,” you breathe, trying to open your legs wider for Sam, still rocking from Dean’s hand on one of your breasts and rubbing you through your soft pants. “Dean told me….”

“Told you what?” Sam asks hungrily, sliding his hands further up your inner thighs, gripping them tightly.

“Go on, sweetheart” Dean urges, still mouthing at your neck, making your flushed skin burn from his facial hair. “Tell him your little secret, and we’ll get these pants off of you.”

Sliding his chair closer to you, Sam moves his hands further up your parted legs. You whine when they stop just inches away from the juncture of your thighs, but lick your lips and continue.

“Dean told me that you could hear us through the wall. He said you…” You pause to breathe and moan when Dean’s fingers find the perfect pressure between your legs. “He said you liked the sounds I made when he made me come.”

Part of Sam wants to give his brother a nasty bitch face, but the part of Sam that is hearing the sounds that you’re making _without_ a motel room wall to muffle them, can’t take his eyes off of you. “And you _like_ that I could hear you?”

“Mmm hmm,” you moan and nod your head, feeling your cheeks burn.

Rutting himself up against you ass, Dean palms your center in his hand and gives it a tight squeeze. “Tell him the rest, baby, and we’ll make you feel _so_ _good_.”

Squirming from arousal and a little bit from shyness, you look at Sam and breathlessly answer, “Dean said you gave him a hard time about the things you heard, but said that _you_ spent an awful lot of time in the shower.”

 _That_ makes Sam give his brother a huge version of the bitch face. Dean chuckles and peppers kisses onto your jaw. You lean into them and not taking your eyes off of Sam, you continue, “I like that you couldn’t get me out of your head, that you…touched yourself and made yourself come.” Using a little bit more pressure, Dean starts to make circle motions into your center, through your pants. You gasp. “And that you were thinking about _me_.”

Chest heaving, Sam pants, “Holy shit,” and takes one hand away from your body to palm his throbbing cock, trapped in his jeans.

You get just a second to groan at the sight, but as soon as the words are out of Sam’s mouth, Dean takes his hand from between your legs and turns your face toward him. “That was fuckin’ hot,” he drawls, running his thumb over your flaming hot cheek. “Watchin’ you squirm…. Fuck, _feelin’_ you squirm, tryin’ to tell Sammy just how much of a kinky girl you are. You get all flushed, and I can feel your heart just poundin’ in your chest. But you like it just as much as I do, don’t you?”

Feeling almost feverish from your arousal and from the urgency coursing through your body, you moan, “Yes,” and then you whine, “ _Deeean_.”

“Shhh,” Dean whispers soothingly and kisses you lightly, his soft beard rubbing against your flushed skin. “I told you that we’d take care of you; I _always_ take care of my favorite girl, don’t I?” You nod your head, and Dean asks, “You want Sammy to get those pants off you? Let him see how beautiful you are? How wet we’ve made you? I bet you’re fucking _soaked._ ”

When you nod your head again, Dean brings his legs back out in front of him, closing your legs too, and Sam slides his hands up your thighs with his fingers splayed. As he makes his way up to the waistband of your pants, his thumbs just barely graze over your center. He groans when you whimper at the light contact, but keeps moving up your body until his fingers hook around the top of your pants and panties.

As Sam pulls your pants down your hips, Dean eases your shirt up over your head and uses his legs to widely spread your thighs again. Goosebumps spread along your body when the air hits your naked skin, but Dean’s hands rub warm along your ribs and middle, Sam’s up and down the insides of your thighs.

Groaning against the side of your face, Dean licks and mouths at the sweaty hairs around your temple, whispering, “You doin’ okay?”

When you nod your head, Dean slowly takes your hands in his and rubs the soft skin on the tops of your hands with his rough thumbs. With his mouth still hovering over your neck, sporadically dragging his lips over your skin whenever he feels the urge, Dean brings your arms behind his back, and wraps your hands around the rungs of the chair. Moving you like this makes your back arch, pushing your bare breasts out for Sam to see.

“Might as well give Sammy the best view, because let’s face it, you’ve got a _great_ rack.”

Your cheeks flush again, but you laugh and watch Sam lean forward in his chair. That laugh turns into a low moan when Sam reaches forward to trace the fullness of your breasts with his hands and brush his fingers over your pointed nipples.

“Gorgeous,” he agrees in a ragged voice and lets his fingertips drag down your middle and ghost over your parted pussy lips. You try to push yourself closer to Sam’s hands, but they just go back to rubbing at the insides of your thighs.

Sam doesn’t even know how or when this all started, but whenever it did, he noticed how turned on you get at the thought of him hearing you or him jerking off in the shower with your moans in his head. Dean, however, has never seemed to give two shits if Sam heard what happened between you and he on the other side of the motel wall, but what Dean _does_ seem to care about is giving you what you want.

It’s obvious that Dean harbors certain a kink for watching your cheeks blush, while you seem to have a shy sort of attraction to voyeurism – both of which Sam’s _totally_ okay with, by the way. But just watching you and Dean, Sam’s noticed that the pinker your cheeks get, the more desperate you become and the more Dean urges you on. Sam has to admit that there’s a direct correlation between the color of your cheeks and the hardness of his cock, and your body being presented to him, open and completely bare, only adds to the dripping bulge in his jeans.

“You’re the one runnin’ this show,” Dean tells you, stroking his fingers up and down your sides, stopping only to cup your breasts in his hands. Moving his thumbs side to side over your nipples, he continues, “Tell him what you want.”

At first, your only answer is the desperate rock of your hips in Dean’s lap, so to urge you on, he rubs his fingers through your ample slickness and makes light and slow passes over your clit, down to your opening. “Tell him,” Dean repeats in a rough voice.

 _Finally_ being touched, after God only knows how long you’ve been turned on – since Dean called, to be honest – you arch your back further and moan loudly. Both Sam and Dean echo low sounds right back at you, and even though it would be easy to just lean back and let Dean make you come while Sam watches, that’s _not_ what you want.

Having what you _do_ want in your mind, you force yourself to focus and look at Sam. Very softly you ask, “Did you touch yourself when you heard Dean fucking me?”

It’s Sam’s turn to have his cheeks flush. He swallows nervously, clears his throat, and almost timidly answers, “Yeah.”

You and Dean groan at the same time, but _not_ for the same reason. The low sound that comes from you is because it really _does_ turn you on to think about Sam getting so worked up, _just_ by hearing you, that he _had to_ touch himself. The sound that Dean makes is because as his fingers swirl between your clit and your dripping entrance, he feels a rush of your wetness leak around his fingers. Dean’s turned on because _you’re_ turned on, and he grabs your pussy in his hand, pushing you down into him as he rubs himself against your ass.

“Tell him what you want,” Dean urges one more time, his kisses growing increasingly rough on your beard-burned neck.

“Show me,” you beg Sam in a ragged voice, gasping at Dean’s touch. “Take off your clothes, and show me.”

A little reluctant at first, Sam moves slowly. Dean makes a couple of quick passes over your clit with his finger, you cry out, and after groaning deeply at the sound and the sight in front of him, Sam picks up the pace. After opening the first couple buttons on his plaid shirt, he pulls it over his head, his shirts underneath it coming off as well. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he opens his belt, button, and zipper, and when his jeans are in a wrinkled pile at his feet, he uses his huge hand to palm the equally huge bulge in his boxer-briefs.

Sam watches the insides of your thighs flex as you rock back and forth in Dean’s lap, moaning softly at his fingers swirling around your clit. Sam groans at the same time as you when Dean slides two of his fingers inside of you to rub at your g-spot.

“Please,” you moan, arching your hips forward into Dean’s hand.

Sam doesn’t know if you’re begging him or if you’re begging Dean. Either way, Dean doesn’t do anything more than continue to mouth at your bare shoulder and neck and slowly work his fingers in and out of your soaked pussy, so Sam pushes his underwear to the floor.

Taking himself in his hand, Sam starts off slow, flicking his wrist when he grips the tip and stroking the length back down to the base, giving the bottom few inches a couple of rapid pumps. As he neglects the flushed and swollen tip of his cock, you watch a healthy blurt of pre-come ooze out of the slit and start to slide down the underside of his length.

Sam groans when he sees you lick your lips. “Thought about that mouth,” he tells you in a husky voice, speeding up his hand and gripping his cock tighter.

Dean’s fingers speed up in your pussy, and his thumb comes up to randomly slide against your clit. His other hand cups your breast and lightly rolls your nipple, while his mouth licks and sucks at your skin.

“You made the prettiest sounds,” Sam starts again, still fisting his cock and alternating between watching you moan and watching your pussy take Dean’s fingers. “Dean would make you come. I’d hear you scream, then pant and whine, and then you’d come, _screaming_ , all over again. I thought I was going to go out of my mind.”

“Shit,” you gasp and let your head fall backward onto Dean’s shoulder.

His voice wrecked and so rough, Dean asks you, “Sweetheart, do you even know how fuckin’ hot you look right now? You’re so goddamned close, I can feel it. You wanna come?”

“Yes,” you pant, nodding your head and still gripping the rungs on the back of Dean’s chair tightly in your fists.

“Thought about my cock in your mouth,” Sam tells you, his voice sounding rough and desperate, so close to coming. “You moaning around it, gagging when Dean fucked you forward.” His breath stutters, his back arches, and he comes shouting, “ _Fuck_ ,” painting his tan chest and abs with thick, white ropes of come.

Before you know it, Dean’s making you come too. His fingers quickly work in and out of you, dragging perfectly against your g-spot, his thumb still rubbing your clit. Every motion makes you rock in Dean’s lap, moaning and gasping through every aftershock.

When you catch your breath and open your eyes, Sam’s got himself cleaned up, and he’s pulling you up into his arms, so that Dean can pull off his shirts and his jeans that have probably left permanent zipper marks in his… _caveman club_.

Once his clothes are in a pile on the floor, Dean looks up to see you and Sam kissing. A little rough, but still playful at the same time, Dean tugs on a piece of your hair and grunts, “Bed.”

It doesn’t take long for the three of you to get into bed, but as soon as you do, Dean pulls you to him and finds your mouth. He moans heavily when your hand finds his cock.

Dean’s cock has spent the entire night trapped tightly in his jeans, behind an unforgiving brass zipper. He’s felt your perky breasts, toyed with your pointed nipples, teased your dripping pussy, and dry-fucked himself against your ass, but you’ve not touched him once. When you _finally_ do, Dean inhales quickly and kisses you harder, groaning wildly against your lips. He _loves_ your lips: their shape, how they’re soft, slick, and _always_ drive him insane.

Even though Dean’s _so_ desperate to fuck you, to roll you onto your back and pound into you until both he and you come screaming and shouting in a tangled mess of sweaty and exhausted limbs, he doesn’t. Dean’s always gentle in the beginning, regardless of how long the beginning gets dragged out. He always takes his time. He reins in his desperation, and keeps his hands soft, calloused fingertips touching your warm cheeks and tracing over where his mouth meets yours.

Dean’s beard is soft against your flushed face, dragging against your skin every time his lips or face move. In contrast, Sam’s kisses at your back and shoulders, bring along the coarseness of his beard. The wiriness is rough on your delicate skin; it leaves a burning trail everywhere it touches, and like Sam knows this, he uses his soft lips and tongue to ease it all away.

In front of you, Dean’s hips begin to move with your hand when you grip him tighter and pick up the slick streams of pre-come that he gives you. However, you want to give him more than just your hand, so you push yourself up on your knees, at Dean’s side, and make your mouth follow your hand down to his cock. He runs his fingers through your hair and pushes it out of your face, wanting to watch your perfect mouth slide up and down his length.

Behind you, Sam’s shifted on the bed too. Bringing his kisses from your neck and shoulders to the small of your back, Sam rubs your ass with his hands, breathing heavily against your skin. When his hands wrap around your hips, he slides one down between your legs to cup your soaked pussy. He hears your garbled moan come out around Dean’s cock, and slides a finger between your slick lips to rub your clit.

Like it spurs you on, Sam watches you work harder to take all of Dean in your mouth, gagging when you take too much, but still pushing your hips back against Sam. Watching and _hearing_ you, Sam _has_ to take his hand away and give his cock a couple pulls, groaning at how his fingers are absolutely soaked with your wetness. He hears you whine around Dean’s cock, but continue blowing him with no less vigor, so Sam kisses up your spine and says, “Spread your knees.”

Pulling your mouth up off of Dean, you trade it out for your hand and look back at Sam, confused, panting too hard to actually say anything. He chuckles. “Keep doing what you’re doing, but spread your knees.”

Thinking that Sam just wants more room for his hand, you move your knees apart a few inches.

“Little bit more,” he says with a smirk, helping you move. When you’ve done exactly what he wants, he groans, “Just like that.”

Twisting himself, so he’s lying on his back, Sam hooks his arms around your hips and hangs on to your thighs, sliding his head into the space between your knees. You don’t even get a second to look down at Sam’s face buried in you before his mouth latches onto your clit, making you sob loudly.

Dean’s watching you practically ride Sam’s face, all while still managing to work your hand over his cock. Your grip is still sloppy wet with thick saliva, allowing his length to slide perfectly in your fist. Moaning so low that it’s probably more like a growl, Dean reaches up for a handful of your hair, to bring your face down to his. However, you seem to have ideas of your own. Before he can even think, your mouth is back on his cock, swallowing him down, and you’re convulsing your throat around the tip.

Lost in the way your hot, wet, and _perfect_ mouth feels around his dick, the way your hand cups and rubs his balls, and how you’re moaning like it’s the best goddamned thing in the world, Dean throws his head back into the pillows. His hands fist your hair, hold your face, grab your shoulders, and before he can catch his breath, he’s coming. And like you’re on the hottest fucking auto-pilot in the world, your hands, mouth, throat, and tongue keep doing what they’re doing, working Dean through an orgasm that makes him actually thrash on the bed, shouting, _begging_ for more or maybe less; he doesn’t even know anymore. All he _does_ know is that he _has_ to fuck you, _right now_.

After you’ve swallowed every _single_ drop of come that Dean has spilled into your mouth, he physically has to remove your mouth from his cock – because Jesus _fucking_ Christ. Pushing himself up on his knees, Dean helps you right yourself up over Sam’s mouth.

Like he’s dying the best death in the world, Sam’s gasping for breath, but still devouring your pussy, making you moan every time he sucks your clit into his mouth or shoves his tongue inside you to lick at your g-spot. Riding his face and chasing the orgasm that Sam is working to pull from you is making the insides of your thighs practically raw from the rough scruff on his upper lip, jaw, and chin, but you wouldn’t make him stop for anything.

Watching your mouth make that perfect little ‘O’ shape that’s been pleasantly burned into Dean’s mind for years now, he grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls your face to his. Swallowing every sound you sob into his mouth, Dean kisses you, groaning when you cling to him and desperately kiss him back.

Over the years, Dean’s memorized every single sound you’ve ever made for him, and when your moans start to get to that needy, high pitch that makes his surprisingly _still_ rock hard cock twitch, Dean knows you’re close.

Still, he asks, “That feel good, baby?” You moan and whimper an affirmative sound, so Dean takes your breasts in his hands, tweaking and rolling your nipples, making you squeal even louder. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he urges, _desperate_ to see you come. “Come for us, and I’ll fuck you _so_ hard.”

Dean’s promise mixed with what Sam’s doing with his tongue makes that heat erupt in your middle. Like Sam can taste it in his mouth, he grabs your ass and yanks you down tighter against his face. His mouth latches onto your clit, sucking and flicking, groaning against your soaked skin, making your orgasm rip through you.

Because of the late hour, and because he _knows_  that the walls are paper thin in this cheap motel, Dean muffles your screams with his mouth, kissing you while Sam licks you through the aftershocks, making your raw inner thighs twitch and squeeze around his scruffy face.

Dean holds you up when your whole body goes limp, and you collapse against his chest. Chucking a little bit, he cards his fingers through your hair and asks, “You gonna make it?” Your answer comes out in the form of a low moan mixed with a breathy giggle, and Dean takes it as the ‘yes’ that it is. “Good, because we’re not done here. Turn this sweet ass around for me.”

Still reeling from your orgasm, you’re fairly pliable, and with the help of Sam – who has _finally_ come up for air – Dean gets you turned around easily. His touch is soft when he uses his rough hands to trace the outline of your shoulders and ribs before gently pushing you forward to lean into Sam.

Kneeling on the bed, Sam gladly holds you up. With one hand on your shoulder and one hand threaded through your hair, Sam holds you close to him, chest to chest, sweaty skin to hot and flushed flesh.

Finally getting a chance to really touch Sam, your fingers tangle in his messy and overgrown hair. Still, it’s soft to the touch, and slides silky through your fingers, but when your thumbs drag through his sideburns, the texture changes. Just like his hair, Sam’s beard is dark brown, but that’s where the similarities end. The hairs on Sam’s chin and jaws are coarse, thick, and rough. Completely opposite of Dean’s soft beard, Sam’s is wiry, and your fingers tangle in its thickness when you try to comb through them.

Chucking a little bit, Sam takes your hands away from his face and kisses you. It starts out intense, greedy for the little moans and cries that you continue to make from your fading orgasm, but when Dean’s hand slides down your ass and starts to rub through your wetness, Sam lightens his kisses. The sounds that you make go straight to his cock, leaking and throbbing, heavy and solid between his legs. Wanting to hear every _single_ one of those sounds, Sam just brushes his lips against yours, breathing in your desperate whines and hitched breaths.

Behind you, Dean slowly works one thick finger inside of you. He can feel that you’re dripping and perfectly slick, but just to make sure, he works that one finger in and out of you. Eventually adding a second and then a third, he watches you moan and beg against Sam’s lips, while feeling you rock yourself back on his hand.

Probably gentler than he needs to be, Dean pushes on the middle of your back. With a deep rumbling voice, he urges, “Bend over, baby. Put this gorgeous ass in the air for me.” Shifting backward on the bed to make room for you, Sam holds you by your shoulders, easing you down, while Dean bends you over. “There you go, sweetheart.”

Just as Sam gets you settled, Dean takes himself in his hand and slides the head of his cock through your glistening pussy lips, slicking himself up. He’s gentle when he enters you – _always_ gentle. Slowly, he eases his length inside you, letting you feel the stretch from every inch of him, until he’s bottomed out and completely enveloped in your slickness.

Starting with slow and gentle thrusts, Dean keeps one hand on your hip and slides one up to the base of your neck. His fingertips drag over purple and red marks of varying sizes, some in the shape of Sam’s mouth, some in the shape of his, all covered with beard burn that spreads down your back, tapering off just above your ass. Speeding up his hips just a little bit, Dean bends over and kisses at the red and purple marks. Moaning uncontrollably against your skin, he add a couple more marks before taking his mouth away and really starting to move into you.

Directly in front of you, Sam brushes your hair out of your face, collects it into ponytail with his fist, and watches you gasp and moan while Dean pushes his dick into you from behind. Thoroughly enjoying the view, Sam lightly strokes his achy cock, thumbing at the head and spreading thick blurts of wetness up and down the shaft.

For just a second, he closes his eyes, listens to those pretty sounds you make, and gives himself a couple tight pumps of his hand. When a particularly loud moan comes from you, Sam’s eyes pop open, and the first thing he sees is your gorgeous mouth, lips a shiny red and beautifully swollen. Moving so slow, Sam traces the swell of your bottom lip with the slick tip of his cock, and he about loses his mind when your tongue licks across the sensitive patch of flesh.

With a little tug on your hair, Sam gets you to lift your face up and look at him. Just as he opens his mouth to ask if he can use _your_ mouth, you use the momentum of Dean’s thrust behind you to slurp down the first few inches of Sam’s cock.

Having pictured this very moment in his head and jerked off to it in the shower more times than he cares to admit, Sam shouts at the unexpected heat of your mouth. He gasps and tightens his fist in your hair when you keep those first few inches in your mouth and let the impact of Dean’s hips against your ass, push you forward, taking more of Sam’s cock into your mouth. It takes him only a couple seconds to find Dean’s rhythm, and when Sam does, he slowly rolls his hips against your face.

Keeping your face tilted so he can watch you and your mouth sucking his dick, Sam sees your eyes roll back in your head. He can hear and feel you moan around his length, swallowing around the tip and gagging when you get too enthusiastic. Quickly, Sam loosens his grip on your hair, giving you the opportunity to pull away if it’s too much. He groans low when you don’t.

With his hips smacking against your ass, Dean fucks you hard just like he promised. He thrusts into your pussy, Sam rolls his hips against your mouth, and everything goes back and forth in perfect tempo. The only thing to ever break the rhythm is when your hips pause to swivel back against Dean’s _so_ perfectly that he just  _has_ to grab a tight handful of your ass and spank it, as he fucks you back into the tempo he originally set.

With every thrust of Dean’s hips, and every time he swats your ass, you can feel your orgasm _that much_ closer. Trying to keep your throat open for Sam, you sob when Dean wraps his arm around your waist to rub your clit, having decided that it’s time for you to come. With his fingers moving in your slickness, Dean fucks into you harder, pounds into your g-spot, grips your ass firmly in his fist, not stopping until you come hard, crying out, your moans only muffled by Sam’s length in your mouth.

Almost at the same time, Sam spills onto your tongue, gasping out heavy, stuttered groans. He forces himself not to shove himself all the way down your throat, but uses his fist to stroke the base of his cock, your mouth moving around the tip. Following suit, Dean gets out a few more thrusts into you, and then he’s grunting low and deep punched-out sounds as he comes, emptying himself inside your tightly clenched pussy.

As careful and gentle as he was in the beginning, Dean slips out of you and grabs you under your arms, pulling you back to him. Once he’s settled both him and you on the bed – his front to your back – he nuzzles his face into the back of your neck and rubs his hand up and down your hip and thigh.

“ _Sonofabitch_ ,” Dean half-chuckles and half-groans in your ear, kissing at the sweaty hair clinging to your neck. “Me and Sammy gotta come see you more often.”

Even though you’re still panting, you echo Dean’s chuckle and exhaustedly breathe, “Works for me.”

Having collapsed on the bed on the other side of you, Sam brushes your tangled hair out of your face. When you look up at him, he drags his pointer finger up your chin and bottom lip, and wipes away a tiny dribble of his come. Gently sliding his fingertip between your lips, Sam groans when you lick the drip away and give his finger a soft suck.

After he takes his finger away, Sam kisses you, gently rubbing his tongue with yours just for a minute, and then he ends the kiss with light brushes of his lips. “I’m _definitely_ in,” he states huskily, grinning against your mouth.

There’s a little while your mouth is traded back and forth between both Sam and Dean’s, making your lips and cheeks burn pleasantly from the varying contrasts of their beards. Dean’s mouth eventually trails backward, from your mouth, to your neck, and then to the back of your shoulders, while Sam’s mouth stays on yours, but eventually slows down to a gentle nothing.

Everything is calm and still and warm. There’s three sets of breathing inhaling and exhaling slowly, as the first hints of dawn break somewhere that you can’t see. Just as the beard burn on your skin finally starts to dull, and your eyes grow heavy, Dean’s hand snakes around your jaw, tenderly turning it back toward him.

“C’mere,” he whispers softly, helping your turn in Sam’s grasp. Once you’re facing Dean, he kisses you gently just like he always does, and asks, “That about what you were lookin’ for?”

You chuckle softly against Dean’s lips, feeling your cheeks flush at the question. “I don’t know that I pictured _that_ , but I’ve got zero complaints.”

“That’s a good thing, ‘cause I don’t think I got anything else left in me.”

With pretend-sympathy, you tease, “Awww. Is your poor caveman club all worn out?”

Sam snorts a laugh behind you.

Grinning, Dean shakes his head. “Shaddup and go to sleep.” 

-

“Guys,” you whisper gently, lightly rubbing Dean’s bare shoulder and tucking Sam’s tangled hair behind his ear. “Wake up.”

It’s fairly early in the morning, and you’ve been up for the better part of the last hour. You’ve showered, are halfway dressed in a pair of jeans and a bra, and are waiting for a contact to get back to you. You’ve caught a case and need to leave.

Sam stirs first, giving you a sleepy smile. “Wh’time is it?”

Smiling back at him, you answer, “Just after seven.”

“Didn’t we _just_ go to sleep?” Dean grumbles into his pillow, blindly reaching to tug you back to him. “And how the hell did you get out of bed without waking us up?”

“I have my ways,” you answer coyly and let Dean pull you back into bed between him and Sam.

Holding you close, Dean strokes his hand over your black, lacy bra cups, down your bare middle, to the waistband of your jeans. “The bra can stay, but these jeans gotta go.”

“They aren’t the only things that have to go,” you reluctantly tell both brothers.

After planting a kiss just under your jaw and one on your lips, Sam asks, “You got a case?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “Got a call about an hour ago. Just waiting for someone to --” Your phone rings in your pocket. “And there they are.”

Dean pats your ass as you stand up from the bed, and both he and Sam find their clothes as you take your call. They watch you step into one shoe, pull a shirt over your head, tie up your hair, shove some clothes in a bag, step into another shoe, write something down, and then end the call.

“I got to go,” you tell them both again, wishing you didn’t have to. “It’s an eleven hour drive to Indianapolis, and I _have_ to get there as soon as I can.”

Knowing the life, Sam doesn’t ask for any more of an explanation. He grins and bends down to give you a kiss. “You’ll make it in ten. Call if you need back up.”

“I will,” you promise and watch Sam walk over to your pile of bags, scoop them all up in his arms, and bring them out to your car.

With his hands on your waist, Dean turns you toward him. Stepping up on your tiptoes, you kiss him. You feel his too long hair under your fingertips, his scruffy jaw on your lips and cheeks, and his gentle tongue against yours.

Both he and you pant a little bit when the kiss ends, and Dean reaches up and runs his thumb over your cheek. “So, we’ll see you when we see you?”

You grin, kiss Dean once more, and answer, “You know it.”

-

**Six weeks later:**

To pay for another night in your motel room, you’re in a random bar, hustling a game of pool. There’s three hundred dollars sitting on the rail. You’ve just called the shot – eight ball in the corner pocket.

You bend over, line it up, pull your cue stick back, and gently follow through. The eight ball flawlessly sinks exactly where you meant it to.

The burly biker guy that you’re playing against looks like he wants to break his cue stick over his knee, and you just grin as you collect your winnings, shoving them in your pocket. You tip back and drink the last of your beer, grab your jacket, and the second you turn around, you’re met with two grinning Winchesters.

Quickly, you’re engulfed in two sets of strong arms, wrapped in yards of flannel and plaid, and two scruffy jaws press against either side of your neck.

As both Sam and Dean usher you out of the bar, a sinfully rough voice drawls in your ear, “There’s our favorite girl.”


End file.
